


when i think about love

by ThisJoyAndI



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: F/M, Season/Series 03 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2016-05-02
Packaged: 2018-06-05 23:21:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6727543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThisJoyAndI/pseuds/ThisJoyAndI
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(you are right beside me)<br/>Tommy, Grace, and new beginnings. 'If he ever dreamt of anything besides the war, he’s certain his dreams would look like this.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	when i think about love

The fourth time Grace’s screams filter down to him, he’s ready to abandon his whiskey and bolt up to their bedroom. It’s only the presence of Arthur and John’s hands, his brothers pushing firmly down on his shoulders, which keeps him seated. “No, Tom, they’ve no need for you yet,” Arthur murmurs, pouring another slosh of whiskey in Tommy’s glass. John nods in agreeance. “She’ll be fine. Pol and Ada are going to take good care of her. They promised, didn’t they?”

Tommy nods, knocking back his drink and trying desperately to believe Arthur’s words, tries to remember a time when what Arthur said was always true. John offers him a cigarette and he lights it with shaky hands, the room silent as Grace screams from above. Everything he’s been through, the war, dealing with Campbell, with Kimber, with Sabini, with Solomons, with Churchill…and this is perhaps the most terrified he has ever been. He’s never been as powerless as he is in this moment, unable to do anything but sit and wait. He supposes that he could continue about his day, business as usual, but that’s Grace up there, Grace and their baby, and although some part of him knows that everything is going to be alright, if something goes wrong and he isn’t there, he’ll never forgive himself.

Arthur eases himself down into the chair beside Tommy’s, and thankfully his brothers begin to talk amongst each other, their voices familiar and a welcome reprieve from the silence. They talk and he closes his eyes and wonders if, god willing, he’ll have a son or a daughter. He and Grace haven’t really discussed names, but he has one picked out if it’s a boy, one he knows Grace shall agree with. Besides, names aren’t important, at least not now anyway. All that matters right now is that Grace survives, because he doesn’t think he could do any of this without her. The business side, sure. He’d continue with his plans, but he wouldn’t be as near whole as he is with Grace. She makes him feel as if none of the bad stuff ever occurred, like he never went away to war and killed men and returned home to do more of the same. 

She’s the only thing that keeps him sane, a willing partner for all his hopes and dreams. He’d live if she died, but it wouldn’t really be living. And god knows he remembers how torturous the two years she was an entire ocean away were. He doesn’t think he could bear living through the rest of his life in such a state. Tommy pours the rest of his whiskey down his throat, cigarette smoked down to a stub and shirtsleeves rolled up to his forearms. And he resigns himself to waiting, eyes tightly squeezed shut as the sound of his wife’s pain rings in his ears.

\---

Seconds, minutes, hours pass. He isn’t quite sure how long he waits. All he knows is one moment all he can hear is Grace screaming, his heart thundering in his chest as she cries out in agony. The next, her screams are replaced by another sound, a softer cry. His eyes snap open, and he sits forward in his chair, startling a dozing Arthur beside him. Another moment and he hears the cry again, louder this time.

He’s halfway up the stairs before he even realises he’s moving. Esme scurries past him with a pile of dirty linens, bloody linens, and for a moment Tommy’s heart almost stops, his hand flying out to grasp the bannister for fear of falling. And then he hears her voice, raspy after hours and hours of screaming, and he inhales a shaky breath, straightening up slowly.

It’s okay, he tells the doubts still lingering inside him. She’s okay.

He’s glad of the moment he took to compose himself when their bedroom door opens and Ada flies out, grinning at him. “A boy,” she tells him, pressing a kiss swiftly to his cheek. “You’ve a son Tommy!”  

Polly, following after Ada, merely nods at him, offering him a tight embrace before releasing him, entirely aware that Tommy is too eager to enter the bedroom to linger on pleasantries. There will time for celebrations later on. There will time for anything...but later.  

He pauses in the doorway, content to take a moment to watch the scene in front of him. Grace, seated upright against a stacked of pillows, with a bundle in her arms. If he ever dreamt of anything besides the war, he’s certain his dreams would look like this. She offers him a languid smile, nightgown slipping down her shoulder, unable to decide whether she should be looking at Tommy or at their baby. 

“You’re okay?” he asks, stepping closer. One tentative step after another, and he comes to sit beside her on their bed, stretching out a hand to right her falling nightgown.

“I’m fine, Tommy. A little tired, but fine. It was nothing I didn’t expect it to be.” Grace shakes her head at him, pulling him closer for a kiss. “Just don’t expect me to do it again as quickly as Esme,” she murmurs against his lips.

“We’ve a son?” he asks, attention entirely captivated by the baby in Grace’s arms. She laughs, shifting so Tommy can better see the baby. He’s perfect. Innocent, in a way he or Grace will never be. Innocent and _theirs_. Entirely theirs.

“I told Ada I wanted to tell you myself,” she complains, furrowing her brow. The baby in her arms makes a soft noise, and her frown fades away at the sound. “No matter, I suppose.”

“A son,” he repeats, a smile on his lips. “Charles then,” he murmurs, running a hand over the baby’s soft tuft of dark hair. Dark, like his own and Ada’s, and their mother before them. Perhaps, if Grace is agreeable, the next will have her hair. He’s happy to wait as long as she likes, because as pleased as he is in this moment, he rather likes the idea of a daughter. But that’s a thought for another time, seeing as his son is right in front of him, mere minutes old. “After your father.”

Grace presses a gentle kiss to his temple, his other hand coming to grip hers. Unshed tears linger in her eyes, but she merely smiles softly at him before speaking. “Freddie then,” she replies. “After your brother.” Tommy’s gaze moves upwards from the baby to meet hers, and he simply nods in agreeance, the lump in his throat making it hard to speak.  

He swallows, Grace’s fingers in his. “Charles Freddie Shelby,” he tells the room, testing the name in his mouth as the baby dozes in Grace’s arms. It is perhaps not the most imposing name, but it’s the one their son is going to bear. Grace shifts their son carefully into Tommy’s arms, the weight of his child more real than anything he’s ever felt, any gun he’s ever gripped. “What a gift you’ve given me.”

“Given each other,” Grace corrects him, head resting against Tommy’s shoulder as he holds their child. Red-faced and exhausted, she’s as beautiful as he’s ever seen her, and although he’s certain the baby shall have blue eyes, he hopes they will be the shade of Grace’s own, not his. She yawns lightly, shifting further down the bed to rest her head on the pile of waiting pillows. “Wake me when he does,” she mumbles, already half-asleep. Tommy strokes her back gently with his free hand, rubbing soothing circles into her skin as her breathing deepens.

With both his wife and baby asleep, Tommy sits still in the morning light, studying his son intently. He’s seen enough children, both within his own family and within Birmingham itself, to know that Charles is near perfect, healthy in every way. In their son Grace has given him a new beginning, the chance to be a much better father than his own ever was. She’s given him a family of his very own, an assurance that he will always have people to love and be loved by in return, no matter what may happen.

He doesn’t think he can ever thank her enough for such a gift, for loving him as much as she does, but he’s certain they’ll have enough years together that he’ll be able to try.

**Author's Note:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L1MSMU3soL4
> 
> Listen to this song and tell me it isn't 100% perfect for Tommy and Grace.


End file.
